A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 32

One of These Doomsdays, Chapter Six

Don’t panic,” said Gretel.

He was mildly insulted she thought he would. He’d faced robots and zombies. An unusually large ant wasn’t that terrifying.

“I thought you said they were the size of buses and jumbo jets,” he said.

“This is just a scout. They come out in the mornings.” She checked her watch. “Yep. Six after six. Just like always.”

The blue-black ant’s antennae twitched. It scuttled away silently.

“Strange that the broken TVs are fixed, but our radios weren’t put back on the shelves,” he observed.

“No stranger than anything else, champ. We have to get these radios back and set up. Once that scout reports back . . . . ”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but he got the idea. He wondered whether he preferred getting chainsawed by robots or eaten alive by ants. Probably robots, he decided.

Gretel pushed the cart out into the street. The same clouds covered the sky, and the morning light, such as it was, bathed the city in a dim yellow glow. More little giant ants walked the sidewalks and scaled the buildings. They weren’t huge, but there were a lot of them. If they decided to attack en masse, there wasn’t anything Felix or Gretel could do to escape.

She took a moment to turn on a battery-operated boom box, tuning it to the correct frequency. It buzzed with static, and all the mini-monster bugs scattered without direction.

“One is usually enough to scare off the little ones,” explained Gretel as she turned the volume down just low enough to still be heard as white noise.

“That’s really cool,” he said. “Still wish we knew how you figured it out.”

“It’s weird,” she agreed.

He couldn’t remember either. He thought back to his first day with the robots, but he couldn’t remember that either. All the days blended together. He’d accepted that, but there had to be a first day. That should’ve stuck with him at the very least.

He couldn’t recall it. Trying made his head hurt. Not metaphorically either.

Felix tried pushing past the pain. He wanted to remember the first day of the robot uprising and the last day of his normal life.

He drew a blank, only ending up with a sudden, throbbing ache running through his skull and down his spine. It disappeared the moment he stopped trying.

“What was your life like before?” he asked.

“Nothing special,” she replied.

“That’s not an answer,” he said.

“Does it really matter anymore?”

He grabbed her arm.

“Watch it now.” Gretel put her hand on her gun.

“Do you remember anything? What was your father’s name? Where did you grow up? What did you do for a living?”

A pained expression came over her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

He dared putting his hands on her shoulders. Gently, so as not to get punched or shot. “One memory. Just one before the ants came.”

He could tell she was having as much trouble as he’d had. Maybe more.

“You can’t remember anything?” he asked.

“No. You?”

The moment was more devastating than any robot legion or horde of zombies. They had no past. He couldn’t even remember his last name. It’d been like this for years, but he’d never realized it until right this moment.

There was only now. There was only the city.

“What’s wrong with us?” she asked.

He wanted to give her an answer. He didn’t have one, but he could’ve made one up. He would’ve known it for the lie it was, but at least she’d feel better. But she wouldn’t have believed the lie either.

“It’s not us,” he said. “It’s this place. It’s done something to us.”

Gretel shook her head. “How do we even know what we are?”

It was the use of the word what that frightened Felix the most. He felt more like an object than a person right now. People had pasts. People had memories. People had things to define them: favorite colors, favorite foods, hometowns, cherished dead pets, first kisses.

Objects merely existed.

He couldn’t even get angry. It was too overwhelming to get mad at. It was like raging at the universe, only to watch that rage get swallowed up by overwhelming cosmic indifference.

TVs didn’t get mad. Cars didn’t get mad. Furniture didn’t get mad. Why the hell should he?

“We need to get out of here,” he said.

“Where?” she asked.

“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter where. Just as long as it’s out of this city.”

“What do you expect to find?”

“I don’t know, but we’ve been here too long. We have to try.”

He didn’t specify what they were trying to do.

“What’s the point?” she asked.

“Trying is the point,” he replied. “It’s what separates us from everything else in this city. Cars don’t try. Lampposts accept their fate. We’re not furniture.”

He hoped it sounded inspiring, but even to him, it sounded like the derailed train-of-thought of a slight lunatic. Although was there such a thing as slight lunacy?

“We’re not furniture,” Gretel repeated. She didn’t sound so sure.

“I’m leaving. Today. I’ll walk until I get out of here. You’re welcome to join me. Or you can stay here. Either way, I’m going.”

He found himself ambivalent about her decision. He didn’t want to leave her behind, but, outside of being the only two people alive, they didn’t have anything in common. Not that it was either of their faults.

Felix had a closer attachment to the cat, and he hadn’t even named the damned thing yet. To be fair, it was easier with the cat. Everything was spelled out, and if the cat didn’t have any memories, it didn’t seem bothered by their absence.

People were just so much more complicated.

“I think it’s a waste of time.” Gretel shrugged. “But what else do I have to do?”

 

They decided to wait out the ants. The larger versions were only deterred by three or four boom boxes playing at the right frequency, and that was a lot for two people to haul.

By mid-afternoon, bugs as large as cars and buses strolled through the streets. They could’ve smashed their way into the apartment, but the static white noise of the radios kept them at bay. As a precaution, Felix and Gretel bunkered down in the apartment and watched movies.

They didn’t have sex again. They were both too distracted by their own thoughts about what they might find outside of the city. Felix kept trying to remember anything from before this. All he ended up with was frustration and a headache.

Until he found something.

Gretel had already gone to bed, and he was staring at the TV, not really watching it. He had it tuned to the green haze in hopes of seeing something more about the door, but after a while, it became an emerald portal into mysteries unknown. He didn’t know how long he stared at it, but in a moment of clarity, he remembered.

He jumped off the couch and ran into the bedroom. Gretel, her arms folded across her chest, sat on the bed. Her gun was within easy reach of the end table, but he tried not to read too much into that or ponder how long she’d been sitting there, staring at him, from the darkened bedroom, through the closed door.

“I had a Volkswagen,” he said. “It was green, and it smelled like stale pizza.”

She didn’t respond.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and he could feel the worn cracked leather seats of the old car.

“I could never find reverse on the first try,” he said. “And the radio didn’t work.”

Gretel’s face remained blank.

“We can remember,” he said. “We just have to try.”

“Congratulations. You’ve remembered a crappy car.”

“It wasn’t just a crappy car. It was my crappy car. The first car I bought with my own money.”

She stared, not at him, but at the wall across from her. “What color was it?”

“Green. Or blue. It was one of those.”

“How many miles did it have on it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How much did you pay for it?”

Felix’s head started to hurt again. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember shit then.”

“Why are you doing this?” His voice was louder than he expected.

Gretel looked him in the eye. He could see then that they weren’t exactly the same. She’d stopped caring. He hadn’t. Not yet. He’d only thought he had, but some part of him was still trying to find something to hold onto. And she was trying to take that away from him.

“I had a car.” He wanted to shout it. He wanted to convince her through sheer force of will.

“Maybe you only think you had a car,” she said. “You could tell me everything about it. It still wouldn’t be anything. Even if it was a real memory, what difference would it make? It’s all pointless now. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“But—”

“I’m tired, Champ.”

She laid down, rolled over to put her back to him.

She wouldn’t believe him. And she was right. It didn’t mean anything. It was only the daydream of a man who had spent too long alone, but now wished he could go back to that solitary existence, even as the mere thought of such a life terrified him.

He reached out to put a hand on her leg under the blanket but hesitated. The distance between them was just too far. They’d been alone too long. Or they were broken, had been broken before any of this started. They had no way of knowing.

Felix took back his hand and stood.

“Good night, Gretel.”

She mumbled something.

He went to sleep on the couch. He felt more alone than he ever had as the last man.

The cat jumped on his chest. He petted it as it kneaded his shirt while purring. It was just a cat. It only wanted food and water and a safe place to hide out from zombies and robots and giant ants. But at least it needed him. At least it seemed happy he was around.

The cat meowed at him as it forced its head under his fingers so that he’d scratch the right spot.

Felix smiled.

“You and me, buddy.”

All the Wrong Angles (short fiction)

He walked into the bar, slightly to the left of the door, passing through a couple of tables, not quite touching the floor. The guy (for lack of a better term) was handsome if you looked at him dead on, but if you turned your head just to the left, if you squinted just right, you could see he had all the wrong angles. Things didn’t line up the way they should, and geometry was something he elected to ignore.

He sat next to me at the bar. They always did.

“Geneva Cthulhu?” he asked. His voice was beautiful, bit it worked in reverse, starting in my brain and crawling its way out of my ears.

“It’s Thulhu,” I said. “The C is silent.”

I nodded to the bartender. I needed a stiff drink to keep my sanity from falling away. It was already peeling at the edges. Came with the job.

“I need your help,” said the guy from dimensions beyond knowing. “I’ve lost something, and I was told you could help me find it.”

“Probably,” I replied. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how it would manifest in this plane,” he said. “Where I come from, it is a glimmering spheroid of cosmic energies, of seven point potentialities, the color of death, the scent of infinity.”

It always was.

“I can find it.” I had a knack for finding things that didn’t belong in this universe. Or maybe they had a knack for finding me.

The guy but not a guy smiled, and my glass melted on the bar top. “Excellent, Ms. Thulhu. I’ll be in touch.”

He disappeared, leaving behind the lingering stench of burning reality, of quarks and gluons dying screaming deaths. Not many noticed, and those that did would soon forget it because the human mind wasn’t made for that stuff. I wished like hell I could forget, but I couldn’t. It didn’t keep me from going mad, but I wasn’t quite ready for a straightjacket yet.

I ordered another drink for the road and set out to find something the color of death and the scent of infinity.

Girlfriends (short fiction)

“Wow. He’s gorgeous,” said Casey.

“He is,” agreed Vivian. “But I asked around. He has a girlfriend. They’re pretty serious.”

Casey laughed. “They always have girlfriends. But college changes that.”

“Oh, not that again. Can’t you just leave this one alone. He seems like a nice guy.”

Casey flashed a wicked smile. It only made him more tempting. She loved nice guys. Nice guys were easy to manipulate. Nice guys never saw her coming.

“I swear, it’s like you get off on messing with these poor guys,” said Vivian.

“Oh, lighten up. Nobody ever sticks with their high school sweetheart. I’m just going to talk to him.”

Vivian sighed. “Whatever.”

Casey sashayed over to the new guy. “Hey, there, handsome. Need help with your bags?”

She winked. Most boys right out of high school fell all over themselves for her attention.

“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” He picked up his luggage and walked away.

“Can’t win ‘em all,” said Vivian.

Casey wasn’t about to give up so easily. She walked after her prey, more determined than ever. She pulled down her top to reveal more cleavage. “So you’re new here, huh? Maybe you want someone to show you around?”

“I have a map,” he said.

She nearly recoiled as if slapped in the face. This was unprecedented. Perhaps this guy was gay. His “girlfriend” was merely a beard. She lived in Canada and was a model and was descended from demi-gods.

“Hey, you want to hang out sometime?” It wasn’t her most subtle attempt, but she wasn’t used to having to be subtle.

He set down his luggage. “If you mean just hang out? Maybe. But that’s not what you mean, and I have a girlfriend.”

“Everybody has girlfriends, but what she doesn’t know . . . .”

“Wow. You just put it all out there, don’t you?” he said.

“Why not? We’re young. We have oats to sow.”

“I’m flattered, but no, thanks.”

She playfully snatched one of his suitcases and tried to play coy. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

A shadow fell over her. Casey turned to look into the flared nostrils of a minotaur woman. Casey yelped. Just a little.

“Hey, Hel,” said Troy. “This is . . . I didn’t catch your name.”

“Casey,” she said very softly.

“She was just helping me with my luggage.”

Helen’s eyes narrowed, and she frowned. “Thanks, but we’ve got it.”

Casey held out the suitcase. “Yes, here. Sorry.”

Helen took the suitcase, put her arm around Troy, and they walked away.

“Oh, yeah. His girlfriend’s a minotaur,” said Vivian with a sly smile. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“What’s a guy like that doing with a monster like her?”

“I don’t know. I think they make a cute couple.”

“Who asked you?” Casey stormed off with a snarl.

Vivian, chuckling, headed off to her next class.

Inhuman Resources (short fiction)

Monsters everywhere.

It wasn’t considered polite to call them that anymore, but that’s what they were. Psychic vampires and metamorphic shifters and God-knew-what-else. A bog monster worked three cubicles down from Nick, and it stunk up the place with the stench of rotting vegetables and mold. But Nick couldn’t say anything for fear of being written up as insensitive. He already had one warning from when he’d thrown up watching a giant fly eating its lunch.

Vorkolork, the thing with invisible skin, poked his head over Nick’s partition. Vork’s internal organs, sickly shades of yellow, were visible for all the world to see. He could at least put on a hat to cover that veiny brain of his.

“Can I borrow your stapler?” he asked.

Grunted, Nick handed it to Vork.

“Thanks. You’re a pal.” He might have smiled and winked. There was no way to tell.

All the monsters were just trying to get by, like everyone else. It wasn’t their fault that they smelled weird or were slightly radioactive. He still missed the old days, when the monsters had lived in their part of the world and the humans had lived in theirs. It hadn’t been fair to the monsters, but he didn’t have to worry about slime on his keyboard or accidentally touching the poisonous skin of giant toad in a tight elevator.

Vorkolork’s gruesome hand reached over and dropped the stapler on Nick’s desk. “Some of us are going out after work. You should come?”

Nick nodded in a way that meant nothing.

“It’ll be fun. Hurley’s coming with us.” Vorkolork whispered. “I shouldn’t say anything, but he has a little thing for you. He wanted me to get you to come.”

His interest perked up. He tried to remember Hurley. The name didn’t ring any bells.

Vork said, “I’m not gay, but if I were that guy would totally be my type. Broad shoulders. Great hair. Terrific smile.”

Nick perked up.

“And those wings.” Vorkolork stuck his yellow tongue between slightly off yellow teeth. “You don’t see wings like that every day.”

Nick lowered his head and went back to work.

Nick spent the rest of the afternoon focused on his work, hoping to get out of here before anyone tried to talk him into hanging out. He bolted to the elevator two minutes before quitting time in an attempt to avoid talking to anyone. The doors were nearly closed when a tall man with blue skin and leather wings in an impeccable suit stepped in.

Nick kept his head down.

“Nice weather we’re having,” said Hurley.

Nick nodded.

“You’re Nick, right?”

Nick nodded again.

Hurley took the hint and shut up. Nick moved to the other side of the elevator and risked a direct glance at Hurley. The blue-skinned angel was gorgeous, but he was still a monster. He probably only wanted to eat Nick’s brains or suck out his life force. But damn, it might be worth it.

The doors opened, and Hurley stepped out. “It was nice meeting you.”

Nick nodded. He was beginning to cramp up in his neck from all the nodding.

He almost changed his mind, but he wasn’t ready for this new world. Maybe in a week or two. Or a year. Maybe never.

So he went home, alone, and ate ice cream for dinner while his neighbors, the shrieking squids, warbled so loud he could barely hear his television.

Inhuman Resources

Monsters everywhere.

It wasn’t considered polite to call them that anymore, but that’s what they were. Psychic vampires and metamorphic shifters and God-knew-what-else. A bog monster worked three cubicles down from Nick, and it stunk up the place with the stench of rotting vegetables and mold. But Nick couldn’t say anything for fear of being written up as insensitive. He already had one warning from when he’d thrown up watching a giant fly eating its lunch.

Vorkolork, the thing with invisible skin, poked his head over Nick’s partition. Vork’s internal organs, sickly shades of yellow, were visible for all the world to see. He could at least put on a hat to cover that veiny brain of his.

“Can I borrow your stapler?” he asked.

Grunted, Nick handed it to Vork.

“Thanks. You’re a pal.” He might have smiled and winked. There was no way to tell.

All the monsters were just trying to get by, like everyone else. It wasn’t their fault that they smelled weird or were slightly radioactive. He still missed the old days, when the monsters had lived in their part of the world and the humans had lived in theirs. It hadn’t been fair to the monsters, but he didn’t have to worry about slime on his keyboard or accidentally touching the poisonous skin of giant toad in a tight elevator.

Vorkolork’s gruesome hand reached over and dropped the stapler on Nick’s desk. “Some of us are going out after work. You should come?”

Nick nodded in a way that meant nothing.

“It’ll be fun. Hurley’s coming with us.” Vorkolork whispered. “I shouldn’t say anything, but he has a little thing for you. He wanted me to get you to come.”

His interest perked up. He tried to remember Hurley. The name didn’t ring any bells.

Vork said, “I’m not gay, but if I were that guy would totally be my type. Broad shoulders. Great hair. Terrific smile.”

Nick perked up.

“And those wings.” Vorkolork stuck his yellow tongue between slightly off yellow teeth. “You don’t see wings like that every day.”

Nick lowered his head and went back to work.

Nick spent the rest of the afternoon focused on his work, hoping to get out of here before anyone tried to talk him into hanging out. He bolted to the elevator two minutes before quitting time in an attempt to avoid talking to anyone. The doors were nearly closed when a tall man with blue skin and leather wings in an impeccable suit stepped in.

Nick kept his head down.

“Nice weather we’re having,” said Hurley.

Nick nodded.

“You’re Nick, right?”

Nick nodded again.

Hurley took the hint and shut up. Nick moved to the other side of the elevator and risked a direct glance at Hurley. The blue-skinned angel was gorgeous, but he was still a monster. He probably only wanted to eat Nick’s brains or suck out his life force. But damn, it might be worth it.

The doors opened, and Hurley stepped out. “It was nice meeting you.”

Nick nodded. He was beginning to cramp up in his neck from all the nodding.

He almost changed his mind, but he wasn’t ready for this new world. Maybe in a week or two. Or a year. Maybe never.

So he went home, alone, and ate ice cream for dinner while his neighbors, the shrieking squids, warbled so loud he could barely hear his television.

Infinite Possibilities (culture)

So there’s a new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles reboot coming out this weekend, and I’m perfectly fine with that.  Do I think it will be good?  Nope.  Do I find it frustrating that we’ve become so devoted to nostalgia that this is the best we can usually hope for at this stage?  Yep.  Do I find the redesigns big, obnoxious, and uninspired?  You betcha.  Do I think this is just another case of “missing the point” of what made the TMNT so charming and unique?  That’s another yes.  But do I expect this film will still make a billion dollars through sheer marketing and unearned fondness?  Probably.  And still, I don’t care about any of that.  Much.

What bothers me about the cannibalizing devouring hunger to make money from established safe bet properties isn’t that they tend to be lazy or that they’ve empowered a generation of semi-talented creators to become highly paid cover artists of actual creative people.  Nor that the general audience really doesn’t care much about whether something is good or bad, just familiar and predictable.  These are all things I’ve come to terms with.

What bothers me is that the fantasy genre has always had trouble gaining respect, and then along come these reboots and reimaginings that seem determined to destroy whatever self-respect they once had.

I’ve always struggled with this assumption.  Probably because I’ve always loved weird fantasy.  Superheroes.  Robots from outer space.  Mutant turtles.  I don’t see them as something to look down upon.  I don’t see them as innately stupid.  Fantastic?  Yes.  Ridiculous?  Certainly.  Fluffy and frivolous?  No.  Not for a minute.

So we’re stuck here.  Either a film is dull and pretentious, like the Godzilla reboot, in a misguided attempt to be better than its fantastic origins OR it’s loud and obnoxious with a sly wink toward the camera that says “Relax, this is stupid and we know it.”  It’s a trap that is almost impossible to escape, but at least it used to be the audience that was throwing it on the work and not the creators themselves.

I’m reminded of Freddy vs. Jason, one of my favorite films.  The premise is absurd.  The movie started as a title.  Somehow, it works.  And it works because the people involved wanted to make a good movie based on something they liked.  They weren’t slumming it.  They cared about making a story that made sense within the context of their reality, and the characters of the two monster serial killers were integrated into the plot.  Yes, Freddy and Jason aren’t just along for the ride.  They drive the story, and their conflict is both grounded in consistent motivations and some of the most surprisingly well thought out fantasy you will find out there.

Meanwhile, I keep getting the impression from these reboots that everyone involved doesn’t like this stuff.  J.J. Abrams has said, multiple times, that he was never really into Star Trek.  That’s not a crime, and sometimes, an outsider can revitalize something by coming at it from a different angle.  But Abrams decided the best way to reboot Trek was to turn it into a twisted amalgam of brainless action adventure and silly references to the original.  The Transformers movies have devolved into gruesome exercises in robo-gore and mindless destruction.  And the people in charge of such things don’t see the problem because they don’t care.  They’re slumming.  They’re making cotton candy, but the thing is, they don’t give a shit about cotton candy.

All those classics of fantasy and science fiction exist because the creators came along and decided to make the fantastic respectable.  Star Wars surprised the hell out of our culture because George Lucas made a sci fi fantasy epic for love of the genre.  Heck, even Ghost Busters succeeds because the people involved were invested in it.

One of the reasons the Marvel superhero films tend to work well is that they don’t look down on the superhero genre.  They don’t feel a need to apologize for it, nor do they attempt to legitimize it.  Guardians of the Galaxy worked so well because it feels like a film made by a guy who actually liked the Guardians, who didn’t think a giant space adventure was beneath him, who thought these were characters worth our time.  People keep referring to it as  “light” film, but that’s dismissing the genuine effort and care put into it.  And, yes, it’s also because the nuances are easy to miss, as opposed to something like Man of Steel that keeps shouting into your face that this is a serious film for serious people, so it’s okay to like Superman now.

(If you don’t think Guardians has some great, subtle character moments then you didn’t hear Rocket’s “We all got dead people” speech or tear up a little with the words “We are Groot”)

As a writer who loves fantasy without apology, I admit that this new age of cinematic fantasy is both amazing and frustrating.  For every, Avengers and Guardians, we’re stuck with a Transformersand Man of Steel.  I’m not too bothered by that because variety is cool.  Some people (many people, in fact) will always consider fantasy to be escapist nonsense.  That’s just the way it is, and as a writer who has written ten weird novels (who constantly hears my work dismissed, even by well-meaning fans), I’ve gotten used to it.  But there are times when the automatic assumption of FANTASTIC equals STUPID or that ESCAPISM means EMPTINESS get to me.

Much of the audience is already going to assume this.  We don’t need creators encouraging them.  We need people making fantasy who like fantasy, who are convinced that they can get other people to like it too.

I want to live in a world where a Howard the Duck movie isn’t viewed as a mistake waiting to happen, but a joyful possibility because, at its best, that’s what fantasy is:

Possibilities.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

 

 

One of These Doomsdays, Chapter Five

Gretel shook Felix awake.

“Get up, champ. We don’t have much time.”

He rolled over. “What’s wrong?”

“The ants,” she said. “We have to get ready for the goddamn ants.”

“There aren’t any ants today.” He buried his head in his pillow.

“Not today, but what about tomorrow?” She yanked his pillow out from under his head, whipped away his blanket.

“Tomorrow is a zombie day,” he said.

“Yesterday was a zombie day,” she said. “Today is a robot day. So what do you want to bet that tomorrow is a giant ant day?”

Felix sat up reluctantly. He waited for his head to clear though even in his fog he could see her logic. If there was a progression to all this, it fit together.

“Do you think so?” he asked.

She threw his pants at him. “Hell if I know, but if I’m wrong and we prepare for it, we’ve only wasted our time. If I’m right and we don’t, we’re ant chow when the reset hits.”
Perhaps it was a sign of his worn mind, but he considered rolling over, going back to sleep, and taking his chances.

“We need radios,” she said. “At least seven or eight more.”

“Who even uses radios anymore?” he asked as he put one leg of his pants on. The wrong leg. Grumbling, he struggled to correct the problem. He’d never been good at waking up. “What if we can’t find any? Will iPods work?”

“What the hell is an iPod?” she asked.

“You’re joking.”

It was clear from the look on her face that she wasn’t.

“Revolutionary technology,” he said. “Completely changed the way people buy and listen to music. Kind of a big thing. Very popular.”

“Never heard of it. Kind of a stupid name, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t name it.”

She tossed his shoes at him. They landed on his lap.

“Will you stop throwing clothes at me?”

“Fine. Die. I don’t give a shit.” She stormed out of the bedroom. Moments later, he heard the apartment door open and slam shut.

He felt like a dick for some reason.

“Damnit.” He tugged on his pants, put on his shoes, grabbed a windbreaker and his tinfoil hat as he ran after her.

He didn’t usually go out at night. It was never quite dark under the ever present gray clouds, but the murky twilight played tricks on his eyes. He often thought he could see people lurking in the shadows. During the day, the city was empty, but at night, it was filled with ghosts.

He would’ve gladly taken some spirits, friendly or sinister, roaming the streets. But they were only his imagination, wishful thinking, and anything that reminded him of how crazy he might be was something he avoided.

Stepping out into the night, he couldn’t spot Gretel, and in a frightful moment, he imagined she’d never existed at all. The whole incident, their meeting, his daring rescue, the adequate sex, all just figments of his snapped mind.

He noticed a flash of silver as Gretel’s foil hat reflected a streetlight. At least she’d been smart enough to put it on. He dashed after her.

“Wait up!”

She kept walking. “Be quiet, you idiot. There still might be robots out here.”

He pointed to his jaw. “No, we’re fine. My fillings aren’t detecting anything. You’re going to need my help.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” she said. “Especially not yours.”

It struck him as an odd thing to say considering that his was the only help she was likely to get.

“I suppose you’d have preferred if I’d left you to be killed by robots today?”

He immediately regretted it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was no point in picking a fight with the only other human being on Earth.

“I’ve been doing just fine on my own,” she said.

“Seriously? There are only two of us left here in a world that seems determined to kill us, and you would rather do this by yourself? Lady, that’s fucked up.”

She stopped, and he thought she might punch him.

“No offense,” he whispered as he stepped back.

She looked like she might say something. Instead, she kept walking.

He followed, staying a few steps behind.

“Hey, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Gretel stopped again. “I was out of line. You came for me when you could’ve just as easily left me alone. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “What choice did I have? Stay alone? Who would choose that?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t have come for you.”

“Sure, you would’ve.”

“No. I wouldn’t have.”

He had no doubt she meant it either. It didn’t make much sense to him. He’d thought about strangling the cat once or twice, and his interaction with Gretel hadn’t been going all that great. But why anyone would choose to be alone in the empty city . . . he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting that.

“I don’t think you’re fucked up,” he said.

“Yes, you do. And you’re right.” She smiled at him with all the warmth of a light bulb used to power an E-Z Bake Oven. But at least it was an honest attempt. “Now let’s get those goddamn radios. We don’t have much time.”

“We’ve got hours until dawn.” It was something of an assumption. It’d been years since he’d seen the sky, and the apocalypse had taken away most of the clocks. The ones that were left behind never worked properly.

“Dawn isn’t our time limit. The reset happens before that.”

He’d never thought to try staying up to watch the reset for the exact timing. Probably because he didn’t have a way of keeping time. He had yet to find a working clock in the whole city. None of the watches in the stores ran. All the digital clocks blinked noon. It rendered time itself an unfathomable collection of minutes and hours and days all jumbled together in one giant churning sea.

They kept walking. He didn’t know where she was going, but she acted as if she knew, so he didn’t worry about it.

She said, “It happens at exactly sixteen past one, every morning. I’ve tried staying awake for it, but I can’t. No matter how many cups of coffee I drink, how many amphetamines I pop, it’s lights out at one-sixteen. Every time.” She snapped her fingers. “Wake up at six after six, the world is reset. More or less.”

“How did you figure this out without a watch?” he asked.

“I’ve got a watch, champ.” She pulled a watch from her hip pocket and dangled it on a chain for him to see.

“Where did you find that?”

She shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

They made it to the electronics store. The automated doors slid open for them, and every TV was on. A green haze filled the screens. Maybe picking up on some signal the robots were broadcasting. Maybe something else. Felix didn’t know. He’d accepted that he probably never would.

Gretel went to the stereo section and started loading boxes onto a cart. While she did that, he went over to find an iPod to show her. He came back empty handed.

“They don’t have any iPods,” he said. “What kind of electronics store doesn’t have any iPods?”

“I’m telling you, champ. That’s not a thing.”

“But I remember them. I had one.”

“Maybe you just dreamed them.”

“I don’t have dreams,” he said.

“Me neither,” she said.

“No!” He grabbed a portable radio display model and smashed it to the ground. “And who the hell uses boom boxes anymore?”

He kicked the broken radio across the aisle.

“This doesn’t make any sense.”

He stepped on the broken pieces of plastic, listening to the crunch under his feet.

“It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

Gretel kept loading radios. “Yeah, it’s all screwed up.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sympathy in her voice, and he hated her. He hated her for bringing him here, for making him think about questions he couldn’t answer. He imagined himself bashing in her skull with whatever he could find.

He just wanted it all to go back to the way it was. No Gretel. No cat. Just him and the robots. The very notion had been his greatest fear less than an hour ago, and now he would’ve given anything to have it back.

He didn’t know what the hell he wanted. The apocalypse did strange things to a person’s mind. He pondered how unhinged he’d become. He didn’t think he was dangerous. They were only passing thoughts.

He met Gretel’s eyes, and he saw the same thoughts running through her head. Or he only imagined them. He couldn’t be sure of anything. He couldn’t even be sure of fucking iPods.

She put her hand on his shoulder. He raised his fist, but she punched him in the gut, knocking the fight out of him.

“Why did you do that?” he gasped.

“Looked like you needed it.” She offered her hand, and he took it. “Feel better now?”

“Not really.” He wiped some of the drool from his mouth. “Maybe.”

He straightened.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“You’d have to be crazy not to.” She slapped his arm. “It’s going to get to you now and then. You’re only human. Me, I think I went crazy two-hundred-and-five days ago.”

“You don’t seem crazy,” he said.

“Just fucked up?” She grinned.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got issues. You’ve got issues. Everybody’s got issues. Or had them. No point in pretending like we don’t.”

He didn’t know about that. He’d often thought that the robot apocalypse hadn’t driven him crazy. It’d just made it all the easier to act out his crazy. People were crazy. All of them. It was the presence of other people, of society, that compelled them to hide it. Behavior was best defined by what the people around you did. You couldn’t have normal all by yourself.

“We need to get these radios back,” she said.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The green on the TV screens blinked away. They all went black. At first, they looked like they were off, but dancing particles of dust and flashes of light meant they were showing something being filmed almost completely in the dark. The camera operator ran, though from what and to where was impossible to tell.

Gretel went to the closest flat screen TV and ran her fingers along its edges. “Where’s the volume control on this?”

“I don’t think they have them on the TV anymore. You need the remote.”

She searched fruitlessly, but he didn’t join her. He didn’t dare look away for fear of missing something. Every flash of light, every blurry something, he made sure to commit to memory.

In the distance, a pinpoint of light appeared. It grew larger, closer and closer until he could see it as an open door. He couldn’t see through the bright white light to whatever was on the other side.

“Gretel, you should see this.”

“In a minute. I need to hear—”

“You should really see this.”

The camera operator pointed it at her face. The light on the camera was too bright and the angle was too low. There wasn’t much you could see other than the glow reflecting off her skin. She had a lot of freckles. Or so it seemed.

“Ever seen her before?” asked Gretel.

“No. You?”

“No.”

The woman grinned. She said something. Two syllables. Maybe three.

“What did she say?” Felix put his head against the TV, but he only heard its hum. “Could you read her lips?”

Looking more serene than any human being had ever looked in their life, the woman dropped her camera. It clattered to the ground. Something must’ve been knocked loose. The image grew grainy, but before it stopped transmitting, the woman walked through the door, disappearing into the light.

The green fog snapped back onto the televisions.

“Shit.” Felix shook the television, knowing it couldn’t do anything, but still needing to do something. “What was that? What was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was she escaping?” he asked. “Did she escape?”

He was repeating himself. It made him sound like a crazy person, but he couldn’t stop.

“Escape from what?” asked Gretel.

“From this.” He waved at the rows of taunting green screens. “From this . . . this!”

“We should get going,” said Gretel.

“Get going? Get going? But who was that? She might have found a way out. We need to figure this out.”

“We don’t have time,” said Gretel. “If we don’t get these radios set up, we’ll be dead in the morning.”

He almost argued, but she was right. Getting killed wouldn’t do them any good.

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he said.

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

He couldn’t know what she was thinking, but if she was anything like him, she had to be turning the woman and the door over in her mind. He’d grown accustomed to unanswered questions, but this was one question he had to answer. He had to find the woman. He had to find that door.

The stores automatic doors slid open. Distracted by his own thoughts, he almost didn’t notice. Three lumberjack robots stomped their way inside. He called them lumberjacks because they were tall and wide and had chainsaws mounted on their long arms and buzz saws built into their chests and shoulders like a ludicrous killer robot designed by a six year old.

Gretel rolled her eyes as if merely running into some old friends she didn’t have much in common with anymore and just wanting to avoid them.

“What should we do?” she whispered.

“Just don’t make any noise and wait for them go away. They tend not to stick around.”

Twenty minutes later, the lumberjacks were still there, still waiting. They didn’t make a move from the door. They didn’t move at all. In another time, another place, it would’ve been easy to picture them as bizarre modern art sculptures. Out of place in this electronics store, but otherwise, nothing to fear.

Gretel checked her pocket watch. “Reset is in another hour,” she said quietly.

Felix didn’t reply. He was still staring at the green TV screen, hoping to see something. The woman. The door. Anything.

Gretel slapped him across the back of the head.

“Hey! That hurt,” he said.

One of the lumberjacks turned in their direction. The saws on its shoulders whirred for a few seconds.

Gretel leaned in close to Felix. “How do we get past those things.”

“I don’t know. They’ve never done this before,” he whispered back.

“I thought you were supposed to be the expert on these goddamn things.”

“I can’t be an expert on stuff they’ve never done before, can I? Maybe there’s a back door out of this place.”

They moved slow and steady to not draw the lumberjacks’ attention, but the moment Gretel pushed the cart of radios, the robots all rotated toward the sound of its squeaky wheels.

“Maybe we should leave the radios,” said Felix. “We can get new ones.”

She shook her head. “There’s no time for that.”

The robots took a few steps forward. The lead lumberjack used its saw to destroy a cardboard stand full of DVDs, chopping them into several pieces and stepping over the crackling remains.

Gretel turned the cart a few degrees. Its wheels squeaked, and the lumberjacks advanced with more speed, slicing their way through any shelving unit and appliance foolish enough to get in their way.

“Stop moving,” whispered Felix.

She let go of the cart, held her hands up.

The lumberjacks went still again, but their saws kept whirring. Felix and Gretel stared at the robots. The robots stared back, though they didn’t have heads. But it felt like they were watching.

Finally, Gretel had enough. She grabbed a display laptop and threw it across the store. It smashed into a wall-mounted television that came crashing down. The lumberjacks didn’t move. They didn’t even twitch, save for the steady whir of their saws.

“What the hell?” said Gretel, louder than she should have but not nearly as loud as the crash.

The robots moved closer. One step.

She gave him that look again, like he should explain it. He could only shrug.

They waited, unwilling to abandon their radios but unable to get them out. Gretel held up her watch for him to see.

Five after one. One minute until reset, if she was right.

Felix watched the seconds tick by with her. He didn’t remember falling asleep or waking up. It was just like blinking. Neither Gretel nor he had moved. They were still on their feet. It wasn’t like they’d fallen asleep, just like a sudden jump in time.

The store was fixed. The lumberjacks were gone. In their place, an ant the size of a Chihuahua was watching him with shiny black eyes.

The Fires of Titans (short fiction)

This world was burning.

Gabriel gazed out across the scorched landscape, a sight he’d seen too many times. By now, he was numb to it.

An alien (although Gabriel supposed he was the alien in this circumstance) came forward to greet him. He’d been on enough ruined worlds to know the score by now. The alien, a green thing with a round body and angular limbs gurgled at him. Gabriel’s translator worked through the language.

“What are you?” the alien asked.

“A visitor,” replied Gabriel.

The atmosphere smelled of seared flesh and stone, of a world that was in its death throes. In the distance, there were the crumbling remains of a city. It must’ve been a sight to behold in its heyday, but now, it was only bones, the corpse of a fallen civilization.

“Can you help us?” the alien asked.

Gabriel frowned. “No. It’s too late. You’ve destroyed it. Used it all up.”

Another world, consumed by the plague of life. God, he was beginning to hate it all. Even the goddamn microbes.

“Can you take with you you then?”

There was a desperation in the alien’s squeals. Gabriel put his hand on the pistol on his hip. Sometimes, a native was foolish or crazy enough to attack him. He couldn’t blame them.

“It’s always the same,” he said. “I’m always too late. Hundreds of worlds, all of them gutted and consumed, devoured, split open like empty corpses.”
“Then why did you come?”

He didn’t know why. Sensors had confirmed everything. There was no reason to land except that he had to see it with his own eyes. He turned back toward his ship.

“Please,” pleaded the alien. “Take me with you to your world. Study me. Lock me in a zoo. I’ll do anything to get away from here.”

“There’s no world to go back to,” said Gabriel. “It’s always the same. Every world.”

The last human boarded his vessel and set out to the stars. Maybe, he mused, the next world could be saved. It was what he always told himself.  And when he was alone in the void of space, he sometimes even believed it.

Distant Shores (short fiction)

Stan didn’t remember dying.

“Few do,” said the cloaked figure beside him, his liaison into the Underworld.

“How did I die?”

“Not my department,” replied the shadow.

Stan looked across the gray landscape. The lands of the dead were dingy. Even the dirt seemed grimy between his toes. He was naked too. Everybody was naked. All the souls of women, men, and children crowded on the shore. Each of them accompanied by a shadow.

“This place sucks,” said Stan. “Am I in hell? I didn’t think I was a bad person.”

The shadow laughed. “There is no hell.”

“Fine. Purgatory then?”

“You could call this place that. All the dead pass through here. Many never leave.”

An old man, wrinkled and stooped, lurched into the water and started swimming.

“Where’s he going?” asked Stan.

“The other side. Or so he hopes.”

Stan squinted, gazing at the far edge of the water. He couldn’t see any land. “Can you drown if you’re dead?”

“No. The fate of those who don’t make the swim is worse than that.”

“What’s worse than death?”

The shadow shrugged.

“Crazy old man,” thought Stan aloud.

“Many do not dare the swim,” said the shadow. “Of those that do, not many make it to the other side.”

“What’s on the other side? Heaven?”

The shadow shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Or won’t say?”

“Is there a difference?”

“So this is it then?” asked Stan. “We just stand here for eternity?”

“Time will end,” said the shadow. “Though eternity is close enough for our purposes.”

The old man swam on, and Stan watched him get smaller and smaller.

“Will he make it?”

“I don’t know. It’s a test of spiritual endurance. It is impossible to say.”

Stan glanced at the gathering on this shore. Thousands of naked souls, all of them too afraid to dare the crossing. How long had they been here? How long until the end of time?

“Screw it.”

He stepped into the waters. They were freezing, but he didn’t let that stop him. He pushed forward, not thinking about the distance or the unknown mysteries ahead. He just swam, one stroke at a time.

He passed the old man, who was floundering now. He wouldn’t make it. Stan could see that. The old man’s gray eyes showed his acceptance of his fate. At least he’d tried.

“Put your arms around my neck,” said Stan. “I’ll carry you.”

“You’ll drown too,” said the old man.

“Then we’ll drown together. I’m not going on without you.”

The old man did as told. Stan pushed on.

From the shore, his shadow nodded to himself. The swim was difficult, but not impossible. The truth was that no one could make it alone. The shadow knew this, though it didn’t know, could never know, what was waiting on the other side of that distant shore.

He wished Stan luck before fading into oblivion.

Nothing to Lose (short fiction)

It was all coming to an end, but not before I got what was due me.

I pulled the gag from Spencer’s mouth.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“You know why,” I replied.

His eyes strayed to the knife clutched in my hand. He thought I might kill him. He wasn’t going to be so lucky.

“Please, I have a family,” he said.

“I know you do. I had a family once. Before you took them away.”

“It was an accident. Nobody was at fault. The light malfunctioned. You saw the report. Both of us green at the same time. Just a stupid accident.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you lay your head down?” I asked. “Is that how you sleep at night?”

Spencer lowered his head. “I don’t sleep.”

I grabbed him by the chin and pulled his head up roughly. “You expect me to feel sorry for you? You still have everything. I lost it all.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I’d do anything to take it back.”

“Would you give me your family?”

He didn’t reply. At least he didn’t lie to me. I had to give him credit for that.

“Why do this now?” he asked. “It’s too late now.”

I sat in a chair across from him and folded my arms. “Because killing you would be too easy. So we’re going to wait here for the next three hours. Wait for it to end. Just you and me.”

Spencer sniffled. Pathetic. If he thought he’d get sympathy from me, he was wrong.

“Okay. I can’t undo it, but if you think this will make us even, then okay.”

Outside, a siren blared. I could smell smoke as the world was burning, as humanity huddled in terror for what was coming. Not me. I didn’t have anything to lose. I welcomed the end.

I expected Spencer to beg more. He must have wanted to be with his family at this time. Who wouldn’t? He sat there, tied to his chair, looking me in the eye. I tried to stare him down, but he wouldn’t turn away.

“I’ve thought about it a thousand times,” he said. “If only I’d hit the brake sooner. If only I’d swerved a little to the left. If only . . . . ”

He laughed, harsh and bitter.

“I think those are the worst words in the world.”

I walked over to him, not sure if I was going to stab him in the heart or cut his throat. Instead, I cut him loose.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

If he had thanked me, I’d have killed him right there. He must’ve figured that. He walked out of the basement without saying a word. Back to his family. Back to people he loved and who loved him back. To die beside them, as only the luckiest of us could at this moment.

Outside, the night sky was alight with the dozen asteroids heading our way that would kill us all. What difference did it make if Maureen and the kids were dead? We were all dead now.

It made all the difference in the world.

Numb, I sat in the basement, alone, and waited for it all to be done with.